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beneath her that made me hate her more. But I did. I don’t care what America thought of her, I instantly knew she was a conniving bitch.
     
    Almost twenty minutes later, Breccan finally walked into the office, still not meeting my eyes and closed the door behind him. He blew out a slow breath, then turned back to me. His eyes gave nothing away, no remorse, no sympathy for the way she treated me. Nothing.
     
    “So, listen. We need to talk.”
     
    Crap. I already hated how this was going.
     
    “Some things have come up.”
     
    “Clearly,” I said flatly.
     
    He looked up, sliding his hands into his jeans. “I’m going to need you to take the rest of the day off. The next couple of days, in fact. I’ll text you with anything important that needs done and I can’t handle. Feel free to use the time to go and relax for a few days. Get away for the weekend even. Your services won’t be necessary here.”
     
    My services won’t be necessary? I blinked, not even sure how to respond to that. “Breccan,” I started, trying to find the right words. “Last night—”
     
    He held up a hand, pain flashing momentarily in his eyes. “Don’t, Cora. Just… go, take a couple of days. I’ll see you Monday,”
     
    He turned and exited the room, leaving me a puddle of emotions. My hands shook as I grabbed my purse and tablet, trying desperately to ignore the happy giggles coming from Miranda in the next room.
     
    I held the tears at bay the entire drive home, not breaking down until I turned the key to my front door. I’d had the best sex of my life, the best night of my life, and it was nothing more than another notch on Breccan’s bedpost.
     

Chapter SIX
    Cora
     
    I spent the rest of my weekend binge watching Nexflix, drinking all the wine I had in the house, and raiding my fridge of all the ice cream I owned while avoiding awkward “what’s wrong” phone calls from Simon. My emotions were all over the board: I went from heartbroken to feeling stupid, feeling used, then to furious that Breccan treated me that way, and back to being heartbroken. After allowing myself to pout for forty-eight hours, I decided enough was enough. He just wanted a night of casual sex, fine. Then I needed to accept that’s all it was and move on.
     
    Somehow.
     
    Breccan had only texted me once, with a change in his press junket schedule. I noted the change and rearranged a few things, texting him back several hours later that it was taken care of. He never replied.
     
    Every time I turned on the TV (and I kept doing so because I was a horrible glutton for punishment apparently), the paparazzi had been all over the Breccan and Miranda reunion, already dubbing them Brecanda, and making me vomit in my mouth. After being spotted at The Ivy for dinner (because of course she’d pick the number one restaurant for photographers to stalk to ensure they’d be seen), the two had been spotted all over town: getting frozen yogurt, shopping at a farmer’s market, and even lounging on the beach.
     
    As Monday morning rolled around, I dreaded heading over to Breccan’s house, knowing I would absolutely hate whatever I walked in on. I thought nothing could be worse than finding a naked slut on my first day, but I was sure no matter what condition I found him and Miranda in, it would be a thousand times worse.
     
    I parked, grumbling as I noticed Miranda’s BMW 5 series in the driveway. “Well, here goes nothing.”
     
    I took a deep breath and headed inside, surprised to see someone else with Breccan and Miranda.
     
    “Ahh! There you are, Cara,” Miranda clucked.
     
    “Cora,” I corrected her, barely keeping the venom out of my tone.
     
    “Sorry, sorry. I don’t know why that keeps slipping my mind. Too distracted, I suppose.” She winked at Breccan and it took everything in me not to walk over and knock her teeth out.  “Anyways, I wanted to introduce you to my assistant here. I thought you two would hit it off